


Three Words

by LadybugsFanfics



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Blood, F/M, Mentions of Blood, mentions of abuse, please help me not step on anyones feet, rating as mature because the past abuse mention can be triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadybugsFanfics/pseuds/LadybugsFanfics
Summary: anonymous requested:“16 from angst and 8 from misc could be an interesting pair with Loki!”: 16.  “ Are you hurt?” “No.” “Then why are there bruises all over your face?” 8.  “But I’ve never told you that before.”
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Kudos: 17





	Three Words

Pain shoots up your nose in waves. Your cheek stings as you dab rubbing alcohol on it. You clench your teeth together, making sure you’re not making any sound. 

It feels weird, standing in your bathroom and cleaning cuts and bruises you had hoped to never gain again. Of course, it usually hasn’t been your face. 

As you put a band-aid on the cut that runs along your cheekbone, you take a steady look at yourself in the mirror. Your nose is covered in dried blood. It’s not broken but it stings to breathe through. Across your right cheek runs a deep cut that stops by your mouth. It reminds you of the Joker and his infamous smile. Though you only have it on one cheek and hopefully, it’ll heal without a scar. Your left eye is bruised, making it hard to look through, and there are a few cuts and bruises covering your left cheek. In addition, your lip is bloodied and torn. 

The metallic taste of blood has made a home on your tongue. You take a sip of water, gurgle it before you spit it out in hopes to make the taste go away. It doesn’t work, as the familiar taste remains. 

“Y/N?” yells a voice from the living room. 

You mutter a silent curse at your boyfriend. He wasn’t supposed to come home in another three days, giving you time to heal and cover up the bruises. But, you guess it’s time. 

“In the bathroom,” you yell. You swallow the lump in your throat, and try to ignore the deep sensation that settles in your gut. 

Light steps stops outside the door. It’s slightly ajar already, so all Loki does to enter is push it a little. You don’t turn around to greet him like you normally would, instead you look down in the sink. Blood-stained water falls down the drain. Some of the strands of hair that fall in your face have bloodstains. 

_Should’ve taken a shower._

“Is something wrong?” asks Loki, stepping fully into the small space. 

“No, everything’s fine.” Your voice sounds strained. You hate lying to him, hate the feeling of uneasiness that grows in your stomach knowing he’ll find out. Most of all, you hate the fact that he’ll have to see you like that; see you at your worst. 

His hand reaches out and takes yours in his. He laces his fingers with yours and drags you close to him. Your back hits his chest, and you meet his gaze in the mirror. A venomous gaze are protruding behind his green eyes.. He turns your around and gently holds your face in his hands. 

“ **Are you hurt?** ” he asks, and seems to slightly tell himself it was a stupid question. 

You shake your head. “ **No.** ” 

He rolls his eyes. “ **Then why are there bruises all over you face?** ”

“It’s nothing,” you say and lower his hand with yours. “I’m fine.”

Loki’s eyes search your face, study every inch of it. “Was it him?” he asks, voice an unbalanced mix of gentle and furious.

“Who?” you ask, knowing full well who Loki is asking about. 

“Don’t try to fool me, love.” He sighs and gives you a small smile. “I know, okay? I know it feels like you can’t do anything, but if you talk to me, we can figure it out.” 

You stare up at him, a tear runs down your cheek. “You know? **But I’ve never told you that before.** ” 

He smiles. “I wanted you to tell me when you were ready. Are you ready?” he asks. 

With a small smile, you nod. “Yeah,” you say, and plant a kiss on your boyfriend’s cheek. “Are you sure you’re ready to hear it?”

“No,” he says, and your gut churns at how his eyes tell you everything you need to know. “I’m not ready to hear how you get hurt.” 

The smile on your face grows. Tears prickle your eyes, and without holding anything back, you let them fall. And through them, you tell him your story. No matter how awful, no matter how hard it has your heart beating, no matter how every word of it inflicts pain on you. 

As you talk, you can see in his face it pains him. How every hit that feels like a reopened wound to you, feels like a new wound to him. How every word, already etched into your skin countless times over, cut daggers into his. How every tear that hits his hand, which feels like a new secret being told by you, burn into his skin. It closes around it, gives the promise of holding on to it. Holding on to you. 

And the gentle kiss he gives you when you’re done talking, is the promise you make to one another to always be honest, to always trust each other, and to never believe the harsh words spoken in your minds during hard times. 

Three words echo in the air. Never voiced through speak, but shown through every action. Shown through every lingering hand, every tear streaked face, every passionate kiss. 


End file.
